Love, in English

If she didn’t get her own private menu, Lauren was going to flip her lid. It was probably really wrong of me to rejoice in that, but what can you do.

“How are you, Vera?” A silken voice interrupted my evil musings.

I turned to see Mateo standing right behind me. He looked great, fresh even. It was a novelty to see him for the second time, the second day. A new look, a new Mateo. Today, he was wearing a full on suit; dark blue pants and blazer, light blue shirt, no tie. It fit him perfectly and looked very smooth, very expensive, silk and wool. His hair was still skirting the line between groomed and messy and I still wanted nothing more than to tug at the ends of it to feel how soft and strong it was. His strong jaw and lean cheeks had a darker shade of stubble going on, a ten o’clock shadow.

I ignored the pulse of heat between my legs and managed to give him a smile. “Oh, hello. Good morning. I am fine, how are you?”

I know I sounded completely formal but I was trying to err on the side of the fact that we weren’t really friends per se and I did need to speak proper English. Or maybe I was trying to save face over the fact that the last time I’d seen him I had the words Marilyn Monroe stuck to my forehead.

“I am well. I missed you last night,” he said, his words causing my stomach to tumble momentarily. I needed to eat something. “Where were you?”

I tried to speak but he squeezed against me, the air filling with his bracing ocean scent, as he reached past to scoop up a mound of ham with the tongs. He plopped some of the ham on my empty plate before putting the rest on his.

I licked my lips, watching as he put a few slices of cheese on our plates as well. Either he was really chivalrous and wanted to feed me, or he wanted me to hurry my ass along so everyone else in line could eat.

“I didn’t mean to miss di

“Oh yes,” he said. His eyes glittered like golden brown topaz. “I heard you had some grappa and then never woke up again.”

My mouth dropped and I angled my neck around him so I could see Dave and Beatriz at their table. “I had one shot and then I went back to unpack. I was tired to begin with.”

He shook two pieces of toast at me before he put them in the toaster. “If you knew how to take siestas, then you wouldn’t be so tired that you miss di

“Hey,” I said in a faux-authoritative voice. “Siesta is Spanish for little sleep. No Spanish allowed. I just saw a bunch of guys get in trouble for speaking it.”

Mateo raised a brow. “Well, I am not a fool. I came here to learn, not to waste time or money. You, Vera, you need to have a little sleep today so that you can stay up tonight. Tonight there is a party.”

“Oh? There wasn’t a party last night?” I asked, hinting around for clues as to what happened when I was dreaming away. “Everyone seems really close this morning,” I added.

He studied me for a moment before he said. “No party. We all had di

The W word. Wife. There it was. There, he said it. Proof that the ring wasn’t a stylistic choice, proof that he wasn’t separated. Wife. She existed. And I had to stop caring what he thought about me. I looked down at a pot of steaming scrambled eggs that a cook just placed down and entertained the thought of turning it over on my head. That would be a good start.

The toast popped out of the toaster and I nearly jumped out of my boots.

“It’s fu

I resisted the urge to look at her sitting at the table. I remembered what she looked like: long sheet of black hair, poker straight, ta

“How so?” I asked, not really caring.

“She is a reporter, on television. She used to cover some of our games. She interviewed me, many times. When you’re on the national team, you get to know every…personality.”

I had no idea what that meant and I wasn’t about to ask. I was at the end of the line anyway and finished my plate with a churro that I picked up with my hands. I waved it at Mateo. “See you later,” I said, trying to sound cool and cheery and all that jazz, even though the churro was still hot and the sugared grease was burning a hole into my fingers.

He frowned at my sudden departure, but nodded.

I threw the churro down on my plate and hurried back to my table. It was empty now, with Sara, Antonio and Lauren all at the buffet, and there was a large carafe of hot coffee waiting. I poured myself some. While I took a deliciously rich sip, I told myself I’d never speak to anyone before I had my first cup. Mateo was just being nice, nice like a decent human being, and I got so weirded out by the idea of his wife and his relationship with Beatriz that I just said adios with a churro. I needed to get a grip. This wasn’t like me. Well, not when it came to guys, anyway.

Soon Antonio and Sara joined us and we started chatting away. I was suddenly eager to really prove myself, as if I just remembered why I was here. To meet new people and to help them with their English. Oh, and get a better understanding of the universe but I was pretty sure that Mateo was going to right about that one.

Lauren eventually came back, her cheeks blotchy red with anger from having apparently yelled at Jerry over the food. Turns out there was no specific menu, there was just a bowl of fruit. I would have felt bad for her but the way she was treating the rest of us—all the people who didn’t have anything to do with her lifestyle choice—I couldn’t.

When plates started being cleared and everyone was almost done, Jerry made an a

9:00 – 10:00 one-on-one with Jorge

10:00 – 11:00 one-on-one with Francisco

11:00 – 12:00 one-on-one with Jose Carlos (Froggy)

12:00 – 1:00 Lunch

Break (nap time?)

2:00 – 3:00 business session with Mateo (oh god)

3:00 – 4:00 business session with Antonio

4:00 – 5:00 business session with Nerea

Break

6:00 – 8:00 Di

8:00 – Evening festivities

And that was to be my first official day at Las Palabaras. Day one of thirty.

And that’s when it hit me: just what in the fuck did I sign up for?

Chapter Five

By the time lunch time rolled around, my head was spi

And so I talked like I’d never talked before. I told the kindly psychologist Jorge all about growing up in Vancouver and my tumultuous relationship with my sister, I told stoic, city worker Francisco (who insisted I call him Paco) all about my interest in the universe and what I was studying, and I told software designer Froggy about my tattoos and what most of them meant and how I felt like I never fit in. I talked about things I’d normally never ever talk about and all because they spoke another language. They both understood English and yet didn’t and in some weird, scary way, it felt like I could tell them anything.